You’re on an airplane. You’re in first class. You’re drinking a martini. You’re eating peanuts, you’re eating pretzels. Life is good. You’ve accepted that this is the highest plane of existence you’ll ever know, and you’re ready to doze off. Relax, it’s okay. Free your mind of any negative distractions or intrusive thoughts. Drink more, eat more, give a little bit, take another little piece of my heart now, baby. You’ve been here for years—you made it. All the stars are here. You’re famous, it’s fantastic. The sky’s blue and the sun’s shining on you. You’re on an airplane. You’re in first class. You’re about to land in Los Angeles. This is going to be fun.
You’re in an elevator. What happened to first class? Your luggage is missing. There are no flight attendants here. You’re in an elevator. You look around you: businessman, businessman, businesswoman, courier, janitor, deliveryman. It smells in here. Why? Someone’s eating meat. You don’t like meat—it’s bad. And it’s bad for you. But, more importantly, if you eat meat, if you deliver meat, you’re a bad person. You’re not a bad person. But you hate the deliveryman. Is this okay? You think to yourself. And I think about this, you wonder. You catch yourself thinking about yourself thinking about yourself, as you’re thinking about yourself. You wonder if people were always like this. You can’t avoid the suspicion, one you’ve had for some time, that people weren’t always like this, and in fact things have gotten worse as your own life has gone on.
You’re in a restaurant. Oh no. You’re food. You’re being served as food. You’re in a disposable plastic container and you’re covered in mayonnaise. It’s over. You’re dead. And yet, you’re not. You’re alive. You’re living, but you’re in a restaurant. How? You fell over. You’re not covered in mayonnaise, you’re not inside a disposable plastic container. You’re in a garbage can. How? Someone was trying to get rid of you. Again. Again. “It happens,” they say, as they walk into the restaurant, hungry and ready to eat. You know they’d eat you if they had to. But they won’t, because now, you’ve escaped the garbage can. You’re no longer in danger of being perceived as “a piece of garbage.” But you don’t think about that anyway. Why? People ask this. You don’t know. It’s just the way it is.
You’re in a movie theater. You’re seeing Forrest Gump. Why? You’re surrounded by other people, and you’re all watching Forrest Gump. “Mama always said, ‘Life is like a box of choc-o-lates… ya never know what you’re gonna get.’” What is this shit? Uh oh—you didn’t think that. You said it out loud. People are mad at you. You don’t mind at first, but you quickly realize, as soon as they lay hands on you, that not caring about being perceived as a good or bad person is different than not caring about your behavior in public. There’s a small child near you—he’s crying. Oh no. You’re scared. You didn’t want this to happen. Jenny’s dying of AIDS and everyone’s crying and upset that you ruined their moviegoing experience. How did this happen? You were just on an elevator. What happened to the restaurant? You’re in a nightmare. You’re sure of it. Will you wake up? You don’t know. No one knows, not here. You’re in a movie theater, and the usher is asking you to leave. Usher? I must be dreaming.
“Benny?” Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz “Benny?” Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz “BENNY!” I wake up. I’m in bed. My Sensei is calling for me. What time is it? Where am I? I don’t know. I still don’t know.
—Follow Bennington Quibbits on Twitter: @MonicaQuibbits